


i can hear you through the whine

by stick2theplan



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Family, Heist Wives, Matchmaking, because Danny Ocean is kind of a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stick2theplan/pseuds/stick2theplan
Summary: Danny Ocean talks some sense into his sister.





	1. bite the bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Reuben heard from Danny that Debbie was planning a big job, and Debbie planned the Met Gala heist in prison, so I don't really buy the "estranged" siblings thing they were peddling in the O8 synopsis. 
> 
> It's been a while since I saw the trilogy, and I've only seen O8 once, so forgive me if any of this seems very out of character.

“I ran into Lou the other day,” Danny tells her, after the usual, obligatory jokes that orange really is her color. 

“Oh?” she murmurs, affecting an air of casual indifference. The shackles around her ankles are too tight, and she’d like very much to return to solitary now, please. She wants to change the subject, but she also wants very badly to lash out, and she was never very good at suppressing her more destructive tendencies. 

It’s sort of an Ocean Family thing. 

“How’s the weather in Melbourne this time of year?” she asks. 

“Debbie…” He clearly knows where she’s going with this, since he doesn’t ask what she means, but she continues as though he had. 

“Because I’m assuming that’s why I haven’t heard from her; she’s fucked off back to Australia.”

He thins his lips, expression a combination of amusement and disapproval. “Deb, be fair. You left her first.”

“Only because she—”

“Deborah.”

She fumes. He knows what went down between them, but he shuts her down whenever she tries to bring it up. He says it’s for her benefit that he won’t let her stew in it and rehash her anger. She thinks she might prefer one of those brothers who’s always chomping at the bit to defend her honor. 

That must come across in her expression, because Danny shrugs and remarks, “I know you want me to tell you you’re right, but, if you were, you wouldn’t be incarcerated, would you?”

She doesn’t really have anything to say to that. 

“Anyway, she asked about you. I thought maybe she was just being polite, but then she looked like she wanted to punch me when all I said was that you’re fine. She’s still wearing that bracelet you gave her, by the way.”

“Good for her,” Debbie intones sarcastically. 

Danny laughs, “Jesus, your poker face is terrible.”

“It is not!”

“It is when it comes to Lou Miller.” 

After several seconds of silence, she grudgingly asks, “So, how is she?” 

Raising his eyebrows knowingly, he smirks at her, every bit the annoying older brother. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “She’s hard to read, and I don’t know her like you do. It’s obvious she misses you, though.”

“I’m right here,” Debbie mutters, lifting her shackled wrists for emphasis. 

“I’m sure she wants to kiss and make up, too,” he reassures her, “but you can’t blame her for not wanting to have that conversation here.”

“Kiss?” she echoes, confused. 

He looks at her like she’s a complete idiot, which is…okay, maybe not unfair. She _is_ in prison. He changes the subject, though, and it’s a relief. If she’s going to talk through her issues with Lou with anyone, she’d kind of rather it be Tammy than her brother. Or no one. No one’s also fine. 

Before he leaves, Danny stands and studies her. “I can talk to Lou for you, if you really want to see her,” he offers. 

“No. No, she can come here because she wants to. Otherwise, I don’t want to see her.” Jesus, why does that hurt to say?

“Debbie…” he says, hesitatingly, warningly. 

“Danny,” she replies in the exact same tone, “just because I can acknowledge that we were _both_ shitty doesn’t mean I forgive her. Not yet, anyway.”

There’s a weird set to Danny’s jaw, and she figures he’s thinking about Tess. Finally, he tells her, “Look, just don’t let this place turn you too bitter, okay?” And then he’s gone. 

His words stay with her, though. They echo off the walls of her solitary cell, and Debbie finds herself distracted with thoughts of her partner for a while. 

The next time he visits, she’s mildly surprised that he doesn’t harp on it. In fact, Danny barely mentions Lou at all for _years_.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, you might be getting out of here in a few months?”

“Yeah, good behavior,” Debbie confirms. “I’ve convinced them I’m a veritable angel.”

Danny snorts in disbelief but quickly turns serious. “Listen, I know the “who’s who” is basically all you’ve been thinking about, but, once you’re released, you’re going to have to deal with all the unfinished business that’s been on hold since you got arrested.”

She pictures Claude’s smug face and cracks her knuckles. Violence isn’t really the Ocean Way, but the bastard has it coming. When she’s done with him, he won’t even be able to go to the beach without—

“Go see Lou first.” 

“Lou?” she repeats, making no effort to hide her surprise. It’s not what she thought he’d been driving at. 

“I can’t make you do anything,” Danny concedes, “but, if you want my advice, I think you should patch things up with her the first chance you get. Don’t waste any more time.”

She scowls at him. Not because he’s wrong, but because nobody likes being ordered around by their big brother. “Why do you care so much about my relationship with Lou?” she challenges. 

He props his elbows on the table and makes it clear that she’s about to be lectured. 

“Debbie, I don’t think you realize how rare what you’ve got actually is. Anyone in our business will tell you finding a perfect partner—someone you can really rely on—is almost impossible. Most people have their guard up even when things are good. But you two…you two fell out. Bad. And, still, you didn’t have to worry about her selling you up the river. It didn’t even occur to you, did it?”

She blinks at him, dumbfounded. Of course it hadn’t.

“I wasn’t worried, either,” he admits. “I paid her a visit, anyway, to be sure, but you and I both know Lou’d sooner cut out her own liver than give you up. And god knows she needs that.” 

He’s not wrong there. Honestly, Debbie’s been a bit concerned that Lou hasn’t been taking good enough care of herself these last few years. There were times, before, when she’d forget to eat if Debbie wasn’t around to remind her. It doesn’t escape her that Danny’s probably intentionally provoking these concerns. 

It also doesn’t escape her that Danny may be more protective than she realized. 

“I love Tess,” he continues, “but our relationship comes with ultimatums. Most do. Not you and Lou. You’ve got a partner and a best friend, Debbie, and you’re lucky enough to have both of those things rolled into a woman you love.” 

“Tess is—wait, love?!” she blurts a little too loudly. It’s fine; if she wants to be paroled, best to let them think relationship advice is the most scandalous thing she discusses with her brother during these visits. “What are you—? I mean, I love Lou, but not like _that_.”

“Come on, Debbie. Don’t play dumb with me. I’m not blind. I don’t know what was holding you back all those years, but it’s about time to bite the bullet, alright? I don’t want to have to worry about you getting caught up with another Claude Becker.” 

She scoffs, “That won’t happen. I’ve learned my lesson.” Then, more quietly, “It’s that obvious?” 

Danny chuckles. “Only to everyone but Lou.”

That’s a lot to take in, given she hasn’t fully wrapped her head around it herself. 

“I have to get her to forgive me first. I’ve been trying to come up with the words for weeks, and I still haven’t decided between “hi” and “hey.” God, they both sound stupid, don’t they?” 

“Debbie—” He’s barely managing not to laugh out loud at her. He’s also saying her name a lot more than usual, which is oddly unsettling. “—tell her you messed up, that you’re sorry, and to please forgive you because you love her. She doesn’t need a monologue.” 

He’s right. Lou exudes enough dramatic flair to power all of Broadway for an evening, but she’s not one for flowery speeches. There’s a flaw to all this, though, because, “How are you so sure she feels that way about me? She didn’t even try to fight for me when I was with Claude.” 

“Maybe your heart is the one thing she didn’t want to have to steal.”

“Ew,” she grimaces. “What is this, a romcom? And, if you’re wrong, this’ll ruin everything.” 

Danny rolls his eyes. “There’s a reason everyone calls you Heist Wives,” he drawls. 

Debbie blanches. “No one calls us that.” 

“Not to your face…”

The way he smiles at her then is all Danny Ocean. He’s a career criminal visiting his sister in prison. Suspicious guards are watching them from all sides, and he’s leaning back in the scuffed metal chair, wearing a tailored suit that’s almost definitely stolen, but he’s showing pearly teeth in a patently charming grin, and she’s almost convinced that he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

She asks about life on the outside, and he’s predictably vague with his responses. 

“Oh,” he says, as if it’s an afterthought, “remind me that I’ve got something for you when you get out.” 

His right hand slides forward across the table as if to touch her. They both know better. Contact between visitors and inmates isn’t allowed. Instead, he taps the tabletop once and rises. She understands what he means by the gesture. 

“See you later,” she says. 

He smiles at her again, but only halfway and with a closed mouth this time. “Behave, Debbie.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they tell her that Danny’s dead, it’s with very little fanfare. They send one of the guards she gets along with, but she doesn’t have much to say, and neither does Debbie. She wonders if this arrangement was the warden’s decision, or if it just didn’t even occur to Tess to come. 

She waits until she has a little more privacy before she cries. And she does cry. While there’s a chance it’s not true—that this is yet another Danny Ocean con—it’s entirely possible that his past caught up to him, or his luck ran out, or he just plain kicked it like a regular person. Debbie’s well aware that sometimes the most interesting people die in the most mundane ways. 

So she cries, and she thinks about the people she cares about. There aren’t many, and she’s never been sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, given her lifestyle. She wishes Lou had taken this opportunity to break the silence, but she doesn’t really want Lou to see her like this, and they wouldn’t be able to touch each other, and she thinks that that would only make this worse. 

She mourns Danny alone. 

 

* * *

 

 

She types out a text to Lou the moment she feels suitably presentable and is less surprised than she thinks she should have been at how easy it is to hit send. 

By the time she and Lou are in the car, she knows she could get away with not saying anything and they’d be fine. Lou’s forgiven her without being asked, and she really, really doesn’t need to ruin the best thing in her life right now (always). 

But she’s got Danny in her head now, urging her to take a risk on something other than a job for once, so she sort of mumble-blurts, “God, I’m stupid.” 

Lou starts and shifts as if to pull over, but Debbie covers the hand on the gearshift with her own and shakes her head. 

“Don’t. I can’t—this’ll be easier if you just drive and let me…”

A fire flares to life behind Lou’s eyes as she sets her jaw and glares out the windshield. “If you can’t look me in the eyes, maybe it’s not worth saying, Ocean,” she says. 

“Maybe not,” Debbie agrees slowly, “or maybe it’s the most important thing I’ll ever say, and I don’t know how you’re going to react.” 

“Don’t try to be smooth,” Lou bites. “That’s a Danny thing.”

And Debbie just completely breaks down. 

“Shit,” Lou yelps and immediately pulls over. 

She’s apologizing profusely, and her hands are everywhere—on Debbie’s face and shoulders and hair—until Debbie sniffles, “Stop! Stop apologizing to me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m trying to apologize to you!”

Lou blinks, dumbfounded. 

“I’m sorry,” Debbie insists, forgetting every version of the speech she had planned and defaulting to her brother’s suggestion. “I’m sorry that I used Claude to hurt you, because that was shitty, and I’m sorry for leaving you in the first place. I’m sorry…I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like any job was more important to me than you are. God, Lou, I’m just—I’m just sorry, okay?” 

When Lou leans over the center console and hugs her, she’s too relieved to be bothered by the gearshift digging into her side. Almost a minute passes before Lou asks the side of her head, “You were afraid to apologize to me?” 

“No,” Debbie corrects, “I was afraid to tell you I’m in love with you.”


	2. the interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie adjusts to life after prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. This is going to be at least three parts: probably pre, during, and post movie.  
> idk I'm having fun with it.  
> #sorrynotsorry

Hours later, they lie in bed together with glasses of wine, basking in several luxuries that Debbie has sorely missed. She’s mentioned that she has a job in mind, because Lou knows her well enough to expect as much, but the real work can wait a day. This—being together—has waited long enough. She’s also gotten threatening Claude out of the way, so she feels more at peace than she has in years. 

Lou’s calloused left hand is splayed possessively over Debbie’s rib cage, fingernails scratching gently. With her right, she retrieves a padded mailing envelope from the bedside table and holds it out. It says “Debbie” on the front in Danny’s handwriting. 

“He gave it to me a month before he died,” says Lou. 

This must be what he’d been referring to the last time she’d seen him. Debbie takes it, feels something solid inside and chuckles, “You resisted the urge to open it?” 

Lou smirks, but she’s clearly relieved that Debbie hasn’t started crying again. “He told me there’d be a bigger payoff if I made sure you got it,” she explains. 

“Thanks. I’ll open it later,” Debbie decides, setting it aside. “For now…” She rolls over and straddles her partner. “We’ve got a lot of wasted time to make up for.”

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a diamond ring inside the package from Danny. 

Debbie recognizes it immediately, because it’s the only Ocean Family heirloom that’s not actually stolen. It was their grandmother’s until she passed it on to their father, who gave it to their mother, and Debbie had been mesmerized by it as a little girl. Since it was an honest purchase, it’s not all that extravagant. The band is delicate and silver, and the diamond itself is under a carat and a half. Certainly not shabby, but not very conspicuous either. 

Essentially, it’s not the sort of thing she or Danny would steal, which means, to those who know them, it’s clearly sentimental. That makes it worth more than anything she could pick up on a typical walk down Fifth Ave. There’s a part of her that objects to the idea that shoplifting something devalues it. Theft isn’t easy. It’s a talent, damnit. But there’s another part of her—the part that might someday be ready to settle down—that understands why giving a girl a stolen engagement ring doesn’t send the same message. 

Dad gave it to Danny, though, and Danny gave it to Tess. Debbie never minded. She hadn’t expected it to be passed on to her. She only really dated men growing up—ever, actually—and it’s an _Ocean_ Family heirloom, after all. 

She won’t object to having it now, though. 

A letter from Danny accompanies the ring. “Debbie,” it says, “I thought you should have this, and Tess agrees. She mostly wears the other one, anyway. (She also really wants to get back in your good graces.) 

“Lou got along well with Mom, and, as much as she pretends not to be, you know she’s secretly more sentimental than any of us.” 

The unsubtle insinuation becomes more and more overstated as the letter goes on. Debbie’s hopeful, because it all comes off like he was planning to disappear. Then she gets to the end. 

“I expect to get an engagement announcement from you within a month of Claude’s arrest. Good luck. —Danny”

It occurs to Debbie that, whether Danny’s alive or not, he’s gone for a reason, and there’s a chance she’ll never see him again either way. She tucks the ring away, finds Lou, and curls into her arms. 

Lou doesn’t ask questions. 

This time, Debbie doesn’t mourn alone. 

 

* * *

 

 

Funnily enough, it’s Lou and not Debbie who implements a “minimal distractions” rule. It makes sense. No matter how invested Debbie is in the job, she could easily be convinced to spend a day in bed with just her partner and a can of whipped cream. 

They continue to share a room, though, which is absolute torture. And, if they act a little like lovesick teenagers, who would dare comment?

 

* * *

 

 

“Thought you said you been partners a while,” notes Nine Ball as she clicks away at her keyboard, fixing Debbie’s “footprint.” Whatever that means. 

“A veritable lifetime,” Lou drawls. 

Debbie grins at her. 

They look back towards the couch and Nine Ball is eyeing them doubtfully. “Then how come y’all act like ya jus’ started fuckin’?”

 

* * *

 

 

“So how does this work?” Constance garbles around a mouthful of Subway sandwich. 

“For starters, you might consider not talking with your mouth full,” Debbie says huffily. 

Lou nudges her gently, admonishing. “How does what work?” she prompts. 

Constance swallows, smirks, and clarifies, “I was gonna ask which one of you’s the cool mom, but I think I figured it out.”

Lou smirks and hip-checks Debbie, who sighs in exasperation.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, my gosh,” Tammy hisses as Lou disappears around the corner. 

Debbie refocuses her attention somewhat reluctantly. “Could you sound more like a suburban mom?” she snarks, quite sure she doesn’t want to hear whatever the blonde is about to say. 

Undeterred, Tammy replies, “I _am_ a suburban mom. And you and Lou finally got your shit together, huh? I’m not sure whether to be excited or scared.”

“Scared?”

Tammy shakes her head. “You two were bad enough when you were pretending to be just friends. I can only imagine what you’ll be like without anything holding you back.”

It’s at this point that Debbie decides she’s never been more appreciative of growing up with a brother and not sisters. 

 

* * *

 

 

Several hours after adding Claude’s name to the seating chart and being lectured by Lou about doing a job within a job, Debbie climbs into bed and presses tentative fingers to her partner’s unnaturally straight spine. 

Lou arches away from her touch. 

“Lou,” Debbie pleads. She feels guilty. The adult thing to do would’ve been to give Lou a heads up and an explanation before even going to Tammy with the idea. Instead, she snuck around, blindsided her partner, and let their crew see that they weren’t on the same page. 

She reaches out again, and Lou flinches but doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. That’s either very good or very bad, because it could mean she’s willing to listen, but it could also mean that she’s graduated to fully ignoring Debbie’s existence. Hoping for the former, Debbie shares what she’s thinking: mainly, that she should’ve consulted her partner before making such a pivotal decision. 

Encouraged by a noise of agreement from Lou, she notes, “And, if I’d talked to you first, you’d know that, as much as I hate him, revenge is not my priority right now.”

“Isn’t it?” Lou scoffs.

“No.” Debbie flattens her hand against the warmth at the small of Lou’s back, slides it over pale skin and too-prominent ribs to the smooth planes of her abdomen. “My priority is making sure we see the other side of this scot-free.

“You know Cartier’s not going to just shrug their shoulders and let it go once they realize the Toussaint has been stolen. Someone has to be held responsible.” 

Lou finally turns to face her. “And he’s, what, convenient?”

“He’s plausible,” Debbie clarifies. “A decent look into his background and no one will have a problem calling him a suspect. Besides,” she finishes with a melancholy smile, “Danny always said to only choose marks who deserve it.”

Eventually, Lou sighs, shakes her head, and grumbles, “Fine, but he better not cross my path, or I’ll break one of Danny’s other rules.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lou almost breaks her _own_ rule two nights before the Met Gala. 

Debbie’s standing at a counter, bent over a floor plan, when a pair of strong hands grip her hips and a warm body presses up behind her. 

“Sticking your ass out like that is asking for trouble, Ocean,” Lou growls in her ear. 

“I don’t mind trouble,” Debbie replies evenly, rolling her hips slightly.

“You’re making this difficult.”

“I’m just going over the floor plan,” Debbie points out. “I’m not the one who can’t keep her hands to herself.”

At her makeshift sewing station, Rose glances up at them, a safety pin between her lips, and asks, “Shall I give you two some privacy?”

“No,” Lou huffs, pulling away. “I’m calling it a night. Don’t stay up too late. We need to be sharp.”

Debbie catches Lou’s wrist and pulls her in for a brief but deep kiss. “Sweet dreams,” she calls teasingly, as Lou marches off with a poorly-hidden smile. 

The blonde is long gone by the time Rose breaks the silence again to mutter, “You’d better let me design the bridesmaid dresses.”

 

* * *

 

 

The big night unfolds with a few hiccups, as is to be expected with a job of this scale, but the crew handles them impeccably, allowing Debbie to play her part with ease. There’s an indescribable thrill to this game—to becoming someone else for a night—and Debbie glories in playing oblivious, all the while with her girls in her ear, providing a running commentary as almost six years of planning comes to fruition. 

Her excitement dips only once all night. It happens outside the Crown Jewels exhibit as she shouts in German at some tense security personnel. Her words might be bullshit, but the distressed spouse act is alarmingly real. She wonders, fleetingly, if Nine Ball can hack the courthouse and whether there’s a frequency limit to conjugal visits. 

The incident passes quickly, though, and it’s not long before her earpiece is filled with exclamations of success. She plants a piece of the Toussaint on her dirtbag ex, and her ladies unveil their finest, and Debbie’s looking forward to celebrating with them back home. 

Or she was, until she sees Lou in that damn jumpsuit. Now, she has an entirely different sort of celebration in mind.

They all reconvene at the loft and break out champagne. It’s nice—it really is—and Debbie waits an admirable forty five minutes before grabbing Lou’s hand and attempting to sneak away. 

That doesn’t really go over. 

“Nooo, stay! It’s a special night!” Amita insists, already slurring her words. 

Debbie’s ready to give in to the guilt trip, but Lou tightens her grasp and replies, “Yes, it is. Enjoy my alcohol. I’m going to go enjoy our fearless leader.” 

“TMI, fam,” groans Constance. 

Debbie smirks and lets herself be pulled away to their bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

She and Lou “borrow” Daphne Kluger’s number from Rose one evening to make the call that will be the beginning of the end of this job. Not that she’d admit it, but Debbie is somewhat nervous. If she’s wrong about Daphne, this could all go very bad, very quickly. Having Lou’s support is reassuring. They’ve assembled a reliable and loyal crew so far; hopefully that’s owed to good judgement and not dumb luck. 

It turns out Debbie missed a lot while in prison, because, instead of a simple voice call, she accidentally initiates a video chat with Daphne Kluger. Lou recognizes the weird trill of her phone as they wait and quickly snatches it up to correct the mistake, but that’s precisely the moment that the ringing stops and Daphne’s face fills the screen. 

Which is good, actually, because she recognizes Debbie and doesn’t immediately hang up on them, but also high-key embarrassing because Debbie is sitting on Lou’s lap wearing pajamas that are definitely meant for Lou’s eyes only. 

Lou lets out a soft, startled laugh, and Daphne simply raises an eyebrow and snaps her gum.  

Debbie’s not an actress, but, at the end of the day, being a con artist isn’t all that different, so she pretends she’s not mortified and says, “I have a feeling you know what this is about.”

“Well, I would’ve guessed it’s about the Toussaint,” Daphne sasses, “but now I’m wondering if you had something else in mind?”

Lou reaches for the end of the bed, which is adjacent to the armchair they’re curled in, grabs a throw, and shoves it across Debbie’s front. “The necklace,” she says with firm finality. “Definitely the necklace.”

“Touchy,” Daphne sing-songs.

They have her plotting Claude Becker’s downfall in under twenty minutes.


	3. what comes after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie gets her head on straight.  
> Okay, maybe "straight" isn't the right word…

Despite growing quite fond of each other, everyone’s ready for a bit of healthy separation by the time Claude’s arrest makes the news. At this point, they can all take care of themselves, but Debbie makes sure to slip a metro card in with Constance’s stuff. 

Lou gets on her motorcycle to embark on a cross-country journey that she’s been talking about doing for as long as Debbie can remember. She invites Debbie along before she leaves, but Debbie knows this is something she’s always wanted to do alone. After five years and eight months in prison, Debbie has accumulated a hefty laundry list, anyway. Now is as good a time as any to see to that. She’s never had a problem being alone.

The first day is easy. She drafts plans and reaches out to a few contractors about the loft, because it could really use some work. It’s the second day that trips her up. She goes by Danny and Tess’s place, but the new owners have no forwarding address or contact information for Tess. 

“Said she wanted a clean break,” they say. “Poor thing. It’s just awful.” 

“Yes,” Debbie agrees flatly, “poor Tess.” 

She’s not sure what she’d imagined she would accomplish in going there. It’s not like she even wants to talk to Tess. Debbie’s harbored a grudge ever since she divorced Danny, and she had a hard time letting go of it when they got back together. 

Since the person she actually does want to talk to is unavailable, she takes a shaker and a jar of olives to the closest approximation. She sits in front of Danny’s marker and toasts to her success, and it feels validating and hollow at the same time. She almost expects Reuben or Rusty, or someone equally appropriate, to show up, but no one does, and she stays awhile. 

She thinks she’s fine—she really does—until she flips on the light in the bedroom and just stares at the empty space in the closet where Lou’s duffel used to be. She realizes that she hates being alone. It’s possible that her time in solitary had more of an effect than she thought. 

In search of a familiar voice, she calls Tammy. Lou probably doesn’t have service wherever she is, and, even if she did, Debbie doesn’t want to inadvertently make her feel guilty. Talking to Tammy is nice and proves to be exactly what she needed when the blonde mentions how glad she is to be home. 

“Not that being in the city wasn’t fun,” Tammy says, “but I missed my kids and my husband.”

Debbie discovers that that’s exactly how it is. She occupies her time, catches up with old acquaintances, and checks in on her crew, but, even when she’s enjoying herself, she often wishes Lou was with her. 

Which makes Debbie think. And think. And think.

 

* * *

 

 

When Debbie finally can’t keep it to herself any longer, she shows her grandmother’s ring to Amita. It seems like a clever idea until she finds herself hastily clarifying, “I don’t want to know what it’s worth. Or the quality of the—it’s just…” Seriously, what kind of genius brings something sentimental to someone whose job is to ruthlessly critique it?

Amita, who looks thoroughly confused, attempts to fill in the blanks.

“What’s this from? Did Claude propose before he sent you to prison? Oh, shit, did he propose _after_? Does Lou know? Wait, did _Lou_ propose? Did you say no? Is that why she left? What’s going to happen to—”

“It’s mine,” Debbie interrupts. 

Disbelief fills Amita’s voice as she asks, “You bought this?” 

“I inherited it.” Debbie turns the ring over in her hands thoughtfully. “Now it’s mine to give to whomever I want.”

Amita’s eyes go wide, and she’d be grinning if her mouth wasn’t hanging open. “Holy fuck,” she exclaims. “Have you told anyone else?”

“No, and I don’t plan to.”

“You’re telling me and not Tammy? So _I’m_ your best friend. Ha! Suck it, Tamster!”

“Glad you’re focused on what’s important,” remarks Debbie sarcastically. “And Lou’s my best friend.” But there’s a hint of a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yo, did you know Nine Ball can sing?” Constance asks, barreling into the kitchen on her skateboard. She’s remarkably conspicuous nearly all the time, and it’s as headache-inducing as it is endearing. 

Debbie gives her a Look, which she grumbles over, but she hops off the board and stomps one end to launch the other into her outstretched hand. Debbie sighs exasperatedly, “That is how you scratch hardwood.”

“Um, hate to break it to you,” says Constance, squinting down at the well-worn floor, “but it’s already a little scratched, Mom.”

“Well, you keep that up after the renovations are finished and I’m going to make you wax the floors by hand. No paying anyone to do it for you,” Debbie warns. 

“Alright, alright.”

The girl is already halfway across the room when Debbie calls her back. “You were saying something about Nine Ball?” she prompts. 

Constance lights up. “Yeah! I heard her earlier. Mamí’s got _pipes_.”

“Okay?” Debbie offers. She’s not sure why this warrants a breaking news style announcement, but she is a little curious what kind of music Nine Ball is into. “What was she singing?” she asks. 

“Something about diamonds.” Constance shrugs. “Bee-tee-dubs…you were in the slammer a while, but you know marriage equality is a thing now, right?” 

“Yes,” Debbie replies dryly, “I did happen to hear about that. I also heard that technology addiction is becoming a problem, so I was thinking of getting rid of the WiFi.”

“Cool. Cool, cool.” Constance says awkwardly as she fires finger-guns in Debbie’s direction and backs away. “Got the memo. Not my business. Catch you later.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lou returns after fifteen days, covered in dust and sand. The sound of the front door startles Debbie, who’s alone in the den watching Stranger Things and contemplating how she would break into Hawkins Lab if she were Hopper. Lou’s got three holes in her t-shirt and silver paint on her forearm, but she stares as though Debbie’s the eccentric one. She’s back nearly a week earlier than she’d estimated, and she smells about as fresh as she looks, so they don’t say much until she’s in the shower. Then Debbie joins her and they talk even less. 

After, while finger-combing damp, blonde bangs, Debbie asks, “How was it?” 

“Fine,” Lou mumbles tiredly. “Thought it’d feel more…freeing. I missed you.”

Debbie breathes a sigh of relief. 

“I missed you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Debbie chickens out. 

She chickens out hard. 

The morning after Lou comes home, she puts the ring in her pocket and waits for the perfect moment. It doesn’t come. Instead, she gets a den full of friends welcoming Lou back, with Nine Ball commenting that motorcycles are sexy and laughing hysterically at the possessive fury on Debbie’s face. 

Lou’s very teasing and flippant, and Debbie wonders if maybe they aren’t on the same page—if Lou’s “I missed you” didn’t mean the same thing as hers. Either way, the confidence of that first morning dissipates quickly. 

After six days, she starts to worry that she’s developing a very uncharacteristic nervous tic from repeatedly checking her pocket for the ring. She decides maybe she needs to take the reigns on this. Planning is her strong suit, after all. Except every romantic moment feels forced on her end, and Lou’s completely oblivious. 

For instance, Debbie sets up a white sheet and a projector and dips strawberries in chocolate, and then Lou assumes she’s preparing to catch up on the films she missed in prison, picks out Gravity, and asks where the others are. So Debbie furtively shoves the champagne back in the fridge, brings out beer, and replies that she wants to hear the movie, not seven color commentators. 

Gravity is a good movie, but it’s decidedly not romantic. 

“She’s very pretty,” Lou comments at one point, “but that’s a god-awful haircut.” 

“The pixie mullet?” Debbie manages with a straight face. “I kind of like it.” Lou gapes at her, horrified, and she laughs, “I guess that means you like mine better long?” 

“I’ve grown fond of it,” Lou admits, tugging playfully at a lock of brown hair. 

Hours later, it occurs to Debbie that that might’ve actually been the moment. She tries to replicate it and is forced to acknowledge that sugary sweet romance isn’t them. They’re lazy Sundays on the floor listening to records and shared plates of everything on the menu at the diner. There’s romance in those things, sure, but no way in hell is Debbie asking Lou to marry her in a _diner_. 

That’s another thing: the whole emotional declaration bit she’s been struggling with is just a tiny preface to _marriage_. Like, she’s on board with spending the rest of their lives together, though she’s confident they’ll do that, anyway. And that thing Danny said—Heist Wives—has really grown on her. It’s just, she can’t picture them doing the ceremony thing. All she comes up with is a distant fantasy of Danny giving her away and the memory of her and Lou quietly roasting guests from the alter as bridesmaids at Tammy’s wedding. Neither is very helpful. 

“I don’t know what there is to be afraid of,” she tells Danny’s marker. “Worst case scenario, she’s one of those people who “doesn’t need a piece of paper,” and things stay the way they are. She wouldn’t leave me just for asking, right?” She stands and paces around the bench. “Lou likes her lone wolf image, but she’s always said we’re a unit.”

Debbie sighs. “You’d probably say something like, “Just tell her you want to grow old together, Deb. Quit making it so complicated.” Damnit, Danny, a girl needs her big brother for this shit.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The way it happens is so much worse than proposing in a diner. 

They’re curled up on the couch one afternoon, just the two of them, when Debbie abruptly fishes the ring out of her pocket. Her elbow presses into Lou’s thigh in the process, and Lou looks up from the New York Times for the cause of the disturbance. 

“Danny left this for me,” says Debbie nonchalantly, “but it’d look much better on you.” 

Lou’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s your mother’s ring.” 

“It is.”

“And you want me to wear it?”

“I do.”

Cocking her head thoughtfully, Lou presses, “Isn’t there a question that goes with it?”

Debbie breathes in deeply through her nose and exhales the same way. “Only if you’re going to say yes,” she hedges. 

“Deb—” Lou starts.

The rest is drowned out by Nine Ball bursting into the loft shouting, “Bitch, better have my money!” She comes into view with Constance beside her, nearly doubled over and crying with laughter. 

“We wrote a song!” Constance informs them. “It’s amaze-balls.”

“Lovely,” Lou drawls. 

Debbie simply glares. 

Nine Ball peers at the way they’re intertwined on the couch, the ring that’s mostly concealed in Debbie’s loosely-curled fist, and the overtly fond way Lou’s fingers are brushing through the soft hairs at the base of Debbie’s neck. She purses her lips and says, “Uh, we’ll come back later, yeah?”

“Later,” Debbie agrees. 

“Much later,” Lou specifies with a glint in her eye. 

Constance catches on and adds, “With lots of booze!” as the door slams behind them. An envelope slides off the mail stack and plummets to the floor. 

“You were saying?” Debbie murmurs. 

“Oh, no,” Lou chuckles, “I’m still waiting on you.”

Debbie grumbles but holds the ring aloft and asks, “Lou Miller, will you marry me?”

Pressing her lips to Debbie’s ear, Lou husks, “Obviously, you dork.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Just under four hours later, what sounds to be multiple fists pounding at the door brings a swift end to the peace and quiet. Debbie finishes zipping up her slacks and smirks at Lou, who’s still lounging in bed. “What did I tell you?” she asks rhetorically, browsing the closet for a blouse. “It’s a miracle they even waited this long.” She chooses one of Lou’s—a deep purple, pinstriped dress shirt that’s sinfully silky. 

“You wearing my clothes doesn’t quite motivate me to get _out_ of bed,” Lou informs her. “Maybe they’ll assume we went out and go away.”

That pipe dream is shot down by Daphne shouting, “You have five minutes to get decent. We’ve all got keys.” 

Lou decides to go with a leather corset and a velvet wine blazer, instead of literally anything less involved, so they manage to get downstairs only a few seconds before the door opens. A pastel pink streak immediately barrels into Debbie. 

“Nice to see you, too, Tammy,” Debbie says, reaching up to hug her back. 

“Oh, shut up,” Tammy replies, stepping away. “I’m allowed to be emotional sometimes.”

“Congratulations!” exclaims Constance as she pops a party streamer and sends slivers of metallic confetti fluttering through the air. 

“You’re engaged!” Rose says, clapping excitedly.

“Does this mean we’ll have another excuse to get dressed up?” asks Amita. “Because, last time we went to a formal event, I was stuck in the bathroom for most of it.”

“That’s because we weren’t _attending_ ,” Tammy corrects, “we were _stealing_.”

“I suppose there’s no chance of getting you into anything pant-less, much less a gown, hm?” Rose asks Lou, who merely snorts in response. “Very well. A suit, then. I do love a nice feminine-cut three-piece. I’ll need to know the color scheme first, though.” She glances appraisingly between Debbie and Lou, who stare back, overwhelmed. “You’re both rather fair. What sort of flowers do you think…?” 

Lou holds up her hands in surrender. “Whatever Debbie wants,” she says. 

“Cop out,” Nine Ball coughs. 

“It’s going to be my answer to everything,” Lou reveals. 

“Wait, she proposed to you,” Constance says, squinting like she’s working through a logic problem. “Doesn’t that mean you get to make the decisions?” 

“That’s not a thing,” Amita scoffs. 

Tammy shrugs and points out, “Marriage is about compromise.”

“Compromise?” echoes a familiar voice. “You should know Debbie better than that by now.”

Lou’s eyes grow wide, and Debbie whips around. 

Danny Ocean stands in the doorway wearing a suit and a grin, and Debbie thinks she must be dreaming. Then he laughs, steps fully into the loft, and closes the door, and she knows it’s real because she’s been struggling to remember his laugh for months, but that was exactly it. 

“Danny?” she chokes. 

“Hey, Deb.”

Debbie nearly bowls Tammy over in her haste to get to her brother. He grips her back just as tightly. They haven’t hugged in six years. It’s a lot. She might be crying a little, but she’ll thank everyone not to call attention to it. She has so many questions, but she starts with, “Where the hell have you been?” 

“I had to disappear,” he answers, keeping his voice low. “The less you know, the better.”

“Will you be able to come back?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say.”

“Okay,” Debbie breathes. “Okay.” 

“I expected you to be angrier,” Danny admits. 

“Oh, I am furious,” she confirms. “I’m just more relieved.”

Danny holds her at arms length, smiles, and says, “You did it, Deb. I’m proud of you.” 

She huffs, mock offended, “I told you I could pull it off.”

“Not the job,” he clarifies, “I never doubted you there. I wasn’t sure you’d find the balls to pop the question.” 

“It took some prompting,” injects Lou. The comment is meant to tease, but her voice is hard. She stalks over and gets right in Danny’s face. “If you Oceans and your non-violence hadn’t rubbed off on me so much, I’d deck you for making her cry,” she growls. 

“You’d be welcome to,” Danny replies. 

She throws her arms around him instead. “You’re a real fucking asshole, Ocean.” 

“Love you, too, Miller.”

He hugs Tammy next, and the four of them stand there with stupid grins on their faces until Daphne, who’s sitting on the arm of the couch and swigging champagne straight from the bottle, calls out, “Whenever you feel like introducing the rest of us…” 

So that’s how Debbie’s newly extended family meets Danny. They learn that he’s managed to stay in the know via some very covert and careful spying and an utterly unexpected informant: Tammy’s husband. 

“He’s so far outside of our world,” explains Danny, “that no one would ever expect him to know anything. Plus, he’s a smart guy. He knows the safest thing for all of us is to keep each other’s secrets.”

Tammy folds her arms over her chest. “I can’t decide whether to feel betrayed or proud.” 

“Your brother’s hot,” Daphne tells Lou in a stage whisper. 

“He’s not my brother,” Lou reminds her. 

Daphne waves her hand dismissively. “Brother-in-law. Whatever.”

Debbie takes the champagne away from her and says pointedly, “He’s married.” It’s less out of deference to Tess than a strong desire to keep Daphne far, far away from Danny. “By the way, where _is_ Tess?” she asks. 

“It’s safest for us not to go out together,” Danny says in answer. “If someone recognizes her, they’ll be curious about who she’s with, and even a great disguise is most effective when no one’s paying attention but almost useless if someone’s looking too close. She sends her love, though.”

Debbie mumbles something noncommittal. 

They all drink and chat for a while. The loft is spacious, but not massive, so Debbie sits on Lou’s lap to maximize the seating. And, yes, that’s her excuse, and she’s sticking to it. It’s not unlike the night of the Met Gala, the way Lou’s hands are hot on her hips and she’s nuzzling her nose into that spot below Debbie’s ear. 

“Let’s do it tonight,” Lou murmurs, alcohol making her accent a little thicker. 

Debbie chuckles, “Mm, how about we wait until everyone else leaves?”

“No,” Lou says, louder and more animatedly, “let’s get married.” She’s attracting attention now. “I know you’ll want Danny there, and we don’t know when we’ll be able to see him again. So let’s do it tonight. We can have a big party or whatever you want later, but, right now, we have everyone we need.” 

“I’m ordained!” offers Constance. “What?” she asks at seven incredulous expressions, “I fell down an internet rabbit hole and ended up with a pdf.”

Debbie looks at Danny for guidance. 

“I think you know where I stand,” he tells her. 

“Okay,” she says with a grin, brushing her fingertips over Lou’s cheekbone. “Let’s get married.”

Constance clears her throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then I just imagine Constance giving the wedding speech from the Princess Bride.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Snide remarks? Funny jokes?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments keep writer’s block at bay :)


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